Who are we Western North Carolinians?

Louise BaileyAlong the Ridges

Published: Sunday, December 7, 2008 at 4:30 a.m.

Last Modified: Sunday, December 7, 2008 at 10:03 a.m.

Part three of three

The fellow said he went with his father to Laurens, S.C., one day with a load of produce and by dark they’d sold out. “The way the lights worked, if you had the motor runnin’ right fast you had good light. Let the motor slow down and the lights went out. There was no way in the world you could keep up speed enough on level ground, much less on a mountain road. Another problem,” he went on, “if you tried to sleep in the truck bed the roads were so washboardy a feller’d migh’ nigh shake to pieces back there, or get bounced plum out.”

They left Laurens next morning at daylight. They stopped twice for gas and oil, and arrived home, 75 miles away, at sundown.

Isolation for many mountain families continued well into the mid-1990s, and with it a self-reliance and determination that enabled them to eke a living out of the earth. They took pride in their independent ways, asking no help and regarding an offer of charity close to an insult. Yet they have been grist for the mill of cartoonists and scriptwriters who emphasize perhaps only the traits that afford them a story, but by no means an overall picture. Thus, too many books portray mountain folk as feuding and lawless, and at the same time deserving of both pity and humor.

Now paved roads take school buses into the farthest coves and educational opportunities are the same for rural and urban students. The lifestyles of the mountaineer and the flatlander are blending, and jobs in town are no longer unattainable for lack of transportation.

Hopefully the time is near when the word Appalachia no longer brings to mind Kennedy’s Appalachian poor, but will help us remember those hardy men and women who turned a wilderness into the homeland we enjoy today. People from all over the country are getting to know us through the Carl Sandburg Memorial site, the North Carolina State Theater, the Blue Ridge Parkway; and we’re high on the list of ideal retirement centers. But what about people from the central and eastern parts of our own state?

In the early 1970s I was on a flight from New York to Asheville. The lady sitting next to me said she was on her way to Raleigh, but she really didn’t want to go right at the time because she didn’t want to miss any of the Watergate story. “Do you get the Watergate story in North Carolina?” she asked me.

Not long after that I had occasion to speak to a young man from Durham about two sisters who had gone from Hendersonville, one to Wellesley, the other to Cornell. He was impressed, but puzzled. “How do you hear about those colleges way over here?”

The mountains tend to hide us from the outside world, but we can keep in close touch with it when we want to.

This column was copied from “Remembering Henderson County: A Legacy of Lore” by Louise Howe Bailey. Her regular column will resume soon.

<p class="bold allcaps">Part three of three</p>
<p>The fellow said he went with his father to Laurens, S.C., one day with a load of produce and by dark they’d sold out. The way the lights worked, if you had the motor runnin’ right fast you had good light. Let the motor slow down and the lights went out. There was no way in the world you could keep up speed enough on level ground, much less on a mountain road. Another problem, he went on, if you tried to sleep in the truck bed the roads were so washboardy a feller’d migh’ nigh shake to pieces back there, or get bounced plum out.</p><p>They left Laurens next morning at daylight. They stopped twice for gas and oil, and arrived home, 75 miles away, at sundown.</p><p>Isolation for many mountain families continued well into the mid-1990s, and with it a self-reliance and determination that enabled them to eke a living out of the earth. They took pride in their independent ways, asking no help and regarding an offer of charity close to an insult. Yet they have been grist for the mill of cartoonists and scriptwriters who emphasize perhaps only the traits that afford them a story, but by no means an overall picture. Thus, too many books portray mountain folk as feuding and lawless, and at the same time deserving of both pity and humor.</p><p>Now paved roads take school buses into the farthest coves and educational opportunities are the same for rural and urban students. The lifestyles of the mountaineer and the flatlander are blending, and jobs in town are no longer unattainable for lack of transportation.</p><p>Hopefully the time is near when the word Appalachia no longer brings to mind Kennedy’s Appalachian poor, but will help us remember those hardy men and women who turned a wilderness into the homeland we enjoy today. People from all over the country are getting to know us through the Carl Sandburg Memorial site, the North Carolina State Theater, the Blue Ridge Parkway; and we’re high on the list of ideal retirement centers. But what about people from the central and eastern parts of our own state?</p><p>In the early 1970s I was on a flight from New York to Asheville. The lady sitting next to me said she was on her way to Raleigh, but she really didn’t want to go right at the time because she didn’t want to miss any of the Watergate story. Do you get the Watergate story in North Carolina? she asked me.</p><p>Not long after that I had occasion to speak to a young man from Durham about two sisters who had gone from Hendersonville, one to Wellesley, the other to Cornell. He was impressed, but puzzled. How do you hear about those colleges way over here?</p><p>The mountains tend to hide us from the outside world, but we can keep in close touch with it when we want to.</p><p>This column was copied from Remembering Henderson County: A Legacy of Lore by Louise Howe Bailey. Her regular column will resume soon.</p>